


dreamers often lie (in bed, while they do dream things true)

by jollyswoosh



Category: Final Space (Cartoon)
Genre: Almost Sex, Avocato's sexuality can be whatever you want, Bisexual Disaster Gary Goodspeed, Bisexual Male Character, Cooking Lessons, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Suggestive Dreams, You crazy kids, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23506429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jollyswoosh/pseuds/jollyswoosh
Summary: "Now Gary, he's a romantic. He sent video messages every day for five years to a woman he’d only known for an hour. So on the average day, he subscribes pretty hard to the idea that dreams have meaning. However, on the average day, he isn't having sexy dreams about his best friend."In which Gary gets way up in his head and realizes a few repressed emotions.
Relationships: Avocato/Gary Goodspeed
Comments: 13
Kudos: 159





	dreamers often lie (in bed, while they do dream things true)

It all starts quite out of nowhere.

Avocato slams Gary into a wall, arms shaking on either side of the human from the force of the impact. The sound echoes like a steel drum in the empty corridor; everything about the Ventrexian is vibrating, like something is trapped inside him fighting to get out, and Gary can feel the other man’s breath on his neck, hot and moist. Gary flinches, both from the shock of the impact and the uncomfortable dampness of Avocato's breath. He tries to telekinetically ask Avocato ‘What the fuck?’ with his eyes, but the other man's gaze is fixed on the floor -- or maybe Gary's collar bone? 

Gary gets the feeling that he should be scared, but more than anything, he's confused. 

They stay in that position for longer than Gary knows how to deal with, what with the Avocato’s strange, unexplained tension, and he tries to lighten the mood with a strained chuckle.

"Well, this is a moment fraught with, uh… possibilities. How'd we end up in this situation, am I right?" It's meant to be a joke, an acknowledgement of 'hey, this is weirdly sexual' while steering it away from said sexuality, but there's a grain of truth there. Seriously, how _did_ they end up in this situation? Gary wracks his brain and doesn't come up with much. His confusion deepens.

Avocato growls, a sound that is low and primal, and Gary's emotions quickly switch gears. A heat engulfs the base of Gary's skull, his spine, and his head is spinning suddenly. The breath on his neck feels even hotter. Gary shivers and says (with lacking authority): "If that was meant to answer my question, it doesn't quite meet the criteria."

Avocato only growls lower and louder, his eyes meeting Gary's with an electric intensity. "For once in your life, Gary," he says, "shut up."

Then Avocato is kissing him, all teeth and aggression and claws gripping at his hair and Gary is drowning in it, pulled down in the riptide of this sudden onslaught. He grasps at Avocato's neck and shoulders for lack of recourse and kisses him back without thinking. The heat in his spine is radiating over his whole back and chest, flooding his brain until it shorts and stops, unable to logic itself through the situation. He surges forward on instinct alone, pulling his body flush against Avocato's, who responds by pinning Gary to the wall with the whole of his mass.

Avocato rocks his hips forward and Gary groans into his mouth. He wants to be closer, deeper, but doesn't know how to get it. He pulls hard at the fur on Avocato's head, trying to deepen the already bruising kiss. Bizarrely, Avocato responds by pulling away, and Gary whines, a noise that quickly shifts to a moan as Avocato brings his mouth to his neck and _bites --_

Gary wakes up.

He lies there for a minute, not thinking yet, not currently registering that he is awake. His brain is floating in that space between sleep and consciousness where he doesn't have responsibilities, doesn't have consequences, doesn't have anything he needs to address.

He realizes his briefs are sticky and cold.

 _"A wet dream,"_ he thinks, _"What am I, fifteen?"_

Then the situation solidifies.

"Nope," he says aloud, "Nope, nope, nope. Not real, didn't happen." He tries to force himself to forget the dream, squeezing his eyes shut and willing it into the back of his mind to fade into so much ephemera. If anything the memory focuses, and he recalls it with more clarity; the feeling of Acocato's body against his, sharp teeth on his lips, the desperate desire for _more._

 _"Arugh,_ table it!" He says. Gary pushes himself out of bed and stands, feeling exposed and cold. He glares accusingly at his crotch. "I need to get cleaned up…"

He takes off his underwear and hurls it into the laundry chute, then quickly grabs a new pair and puts it on. He feels a little better after that, but a weird sensation continues to linger in his gut. Embarrassment? Violation? Nah, neither of those two are right.

(He very pointedly tries to steer his thinking away from certain feelings, like pleasure, or horniness, or arousal…)

Gary grinds his teeth in frustration. "I said table it! Table it means you put off dealing with that until it inevitably gets lost under all the junk mail you leave unopened in your dining room, and so you just throw it all away and never get back to it again!"

No one says anything back. Begrudgingly, Gary admits to himself that he's up and at 'em now, and he starts getting dressed. After all his clothes are on and he's standing pointlessly in his room, he also begrudgingly begins to contemplate his dream. In the abstract. He tip-toes around the details in his mind as he tip-toes out of his room and starts stalking around in thought.

Now Gary, he's a romantic. He sent video messages every day for five years to a woman he’d only known for an hour. So on the average day, he subscribes pretty hard to the idea that dreams have meaning. However, on the average day, he isn't having sexy dreams about his best friend. So he puts aside his romanticism and starts to rationalize the situation, hands shoved in his pockets as he paces the halls of the Crimson Light.

"Okay, so first," he says to himself, "I am co-dad to his son and possibly my brain just got some wires crossed. There is nothing inherently romantic about tandem-raising the coolest dang kid in the galaxy. That's just awesome."

Gary nods to himself, and heads into the empty bridge, which he didn't even realize he was walking toward. He sits down in the captain's chair and contemplates the void of Final Space as he thinks.

"Thing two: I have not enjoyed the… affectionate touch of another warm-blooded being in over five years! A man gets lonely. It begs the question why I wasn't dreaming about Quinn," Gary hesitates on that snag, but shakes it off, "... but see part one for why."

Yes, it was all coming together. Two perfectly reasonable explanations for why his subconscious decided to treat him to the experience of being macked-on by a burly cat man. One more reason, and he could put it all behind him! Three felt like a good number for that somehow.

"And finally!" He declares, hand triumphantly pointed toward the ceiling… and then stalls out. He sits awkwardly like that for a few solid beats, one hand up, mouth open. His mind is stubbornly blank. C'mon, there had to be a point three! He swore it was right there, on the tip of his tongue. Gary is starting to feel silly with his hand in the air, so he settles back down and thinks.

“The third thing,” he says eventually, quietly, “is that I’m not attracted… to…” Because he isn’t. Right? That’s a reason so obvious that it should have been the first thing he listed. Putting aside that he’s never even been into another dude, Avocato is an alien. Not that Gary has anything against interspecies relationships, but he figures dating an alien is a whole other level of pansexual. Which he isn’t. What was the difference between pan and bi again?

Gary pictures Avocato in his mind’s eye; the serious furrow of his brow, the yellow glow of his eyes, the broad shoulders and back. His usual frown makes every laugh and smile breath-taking, like bringing it out of him made you someone special. And his voice! Constantly calling people ‘baby’ with a voice like that should probably be illegal. People are into it -- Gary is sure people are into it. The dude has a kid! Obviously someone was into it.

Gary stops on that thought. “Avocato’s never said anything about Little Cato’s mom. Or… other-other dad? How does baby-stuff work with Ventrexians? I knew I should have taken “Ventrexian History and Cultures” back in high school. Darn my lack of foresight!”

“What are you shouting to yourself about now?”

Gary jumps and turns to see Avocato in the doorway. He's leaning against the frame in a way that really accentuates the shoulder-to-hip ratio, and Gary's eyes get stuck on the gap between his shirt and pants. On a human, that’s where the abs would be. Avocato probably _does_ have abs, they’re just under his fur. The only way to know for sure would be to touch…

“I am!” Gary yells, eyes darting to _literally anything else,_ “Just thinking! Out loud!”

Avocato quirks an eyebrow. “What else is new? I meant ‘what are you thinking out loud about?’”

Gary tries to remind himself that Avocato can’t read his mind ( _as far as he knows)_ and tries to come up with something mildly plausible based on what Avocato likely overheard. “Just, you know, thinking about the whole being-Little-Cato’s-second-dad thing. Hoping I don’t stumble into some kind of cultural faux-pas that I don’t know about and teach him something… wacky.”

Avocato chuckles and comes to stand beside Gary, his arms crossed. Gary gulps and looks back out into final space. “Little Cato’s old enough to know when you’re being a dumbass human. And besides, you can’t fuck him up any more than I already have. Don’t worry about it too much.”

There’s a pause, and Gary feels a tension in the air that isn’t coming from his own hang-ups. His eyes dart over to the other man, and Avocato is looking at him with a sad kind of scrutiny. Before Gary can say anything, Avocato speaks.

“Little Cato’s been telling me about what you got up to when I was… M.I.A. You’ve been doing a great job looking after him. Probably better than I ever have. You’re a good man, Gary Goodspeed.”

Gary can’t begin to parse his feelings, hearing that; grateful, somber, proud, grief-stricken. The list could go on. Uncharacteristically, he picks his next words carefully, “Hey, about me adopting Little Cato --”

“Don’t,” Avocato says, putting a hand on Gary’s shoulder, “Don’t you dare say what you’re about to say. Our son would never forgive you.”

 _Our son._ Avocato’s hand is warm and firm on his shoulder and it feels remarkably similar to whatever emotion is squeezing so insistently on Gary’s heart. He places a hand on top of Avocato’s, and they stay like that for a while.

oO0Oo

Avocato and Gary are lying in Avocato’s bed, though this version of his bed has a few extra pillows and is generally plusher and more comfortable than the usual fare on the Crimson Light. They’re both shirtless, Avocato half on top of Gary, and Gary unabashedly enjoys the soft feeling of Avocato’s fur against his chest, the soft thud of their heartbeats against each other. He smiles wide as a kiss is pressed against his mouth, gentle and sudden.

“Stop it,” Avocato rumbles.

“Stop what? Being hot and desirable?” Gary asks, running his hand down the older man’s back.

“Don’t dig for compliments, you idiot,” Avocato says back, kissing him again, a bit more forcefully.

Gary laughs and flips them over, stradling Avocato’s lap. He looks appreciatively at Avocato’s chest, drags a hand over his pecs, neck, up to his face, and stops, cupping his cheek. “ _Your_ idiot.”

Avocato smiles and puts his hands behind his head, settling in and puffing out at the same time, showing off, “You got plans from up there, baby?”

“Maybe a few ideas,” Gary responds. He leans forward as if going in for another kiss, but then sharply pulls back Avocato’s head, eliciting a gasp. Gary buries his face in Avocato's newly exposed neck and breathes in his scent, feeling the man beneath him swallow. 

Then Gary shifts, caressing his way downward, moving his whole body south until he’s just above the waistband of the Ventrexian’s pants. Gary glances up while his thumb flicks at the button of Avocato’s fly, and Avocato is looking at him with his eyes half closed, chest rising and falling visibly. Gary grins and keeps moving down, avoiding the erection tenting the trousers in front of him and biting at the inside of Avocato’s thigh. The man under him practically keens.

 _“Tease,”_ Avocato accuses.

“Hey, it’s nice to go slow after last time,” Gary says, squeezing Avocato’s leg.

“Didn’t hear you complaining before."

Gary pushes his forehead fondly into Avocato's hip. "Nah, I enjoyed that well enough. I can't believe it even happened."

Something tingles in the back of Gary's mind after he says that. How _did_ that happen last time? He sits up and looks around. How did last time end? Did they have sex? It wasn’t that long ago and it was one of those events that, you know, changes your life. It’s reasonable that he would remember more of it than he does. Gary looks down at the man he had, until just recently, been draped all over, and Avocato seems shockingly nonplussed.

“Aren’t you worried?” Gary asks.

Avocato’s face remains still and unconcerned. “About what?”

“Me,” he says, “This. I dunno. I’m acting weird. You’re acting weird. Something’s…”

Oh.

“This is a --”

Gary wakes up.

He doesn’t get the luxury of not remembering for a few seconds this time. From the moment he opens his eyes, Gary is fully aware that, in his dream, he was literally moments away from giving Avocato a blow job. Gary’s whole head is burning and also floating off of his body, and he realizes that he’s not breathing. He takes a deep breath. It doesn’t fix anything, but at least his mind and body roughly reconnect.

He lies in bed for several minutes. The dream was nice, in a way. It reflected a relationship that was familiar, easy, and he felt warm and protected and... Well. He doesn’t want to say loved, but the word drifts across his mindscape and he lets it. Gary breathes in again and lets it out in a sigh.

Gary gets up without much fuss and gets dressed. As he does, he takes inventory of the situation he finds himself in.

Avocato: Really awesome, cool guy, that Gary’s subconscious arguably wants to bang (and who is inarguably pretty hot regardless). Sexuality: Unknown. Interest in Non-Ventrexians: Also unknown. Age: Unknown, but probably at least ten years older than Gary, what with having a teenage son. Baggage: Tons. Baggage related to romantic relationships: Almost definitely.

It’s not that best possibly-romantic situation that Gary’s ever found himself in. Not that Gary has ever put himself into strait-forward romantic situations. That would be far too easy and do nothing to reflect an adolescence lacking in parental affection. Still, it’s easily in his top five lonely-hearted mistakes. 

Possible mistakes. Gary’s still not convinced his dreams are anything more than an idle mind blowing things out of proportion. He ruffles his hair with a frustrated whine and heads to the mess hall. It feels like a good time to do some emotional eating.

Gary lingers at a large bay of windows as he walks, staring out into final space. It's hard to explain what's so different about it, compared to regular space. The void of nothingness between stars and planets makes your stomach drop out at the best of times, but final space reverberates inside of you, bone deep. It's not something you can see, in the end -- it's something you feel.

Gary has so many more important things to worry about besides a maybe-crush on Avocato. He has a mom who wants to try actually being a mom for the first time in his life. He has a dimension to escape. And Quinn.

Good God, he needs food and strong, _strong_ coffee.

The door to the mess opens with its usual 'woosh,' and Gary walks through the threshold with his eyes cast down, only to be greeted with the last voice he wants to hear right now.

"Mornin'," says Avocato, already sitting with a cup of Joe in his hands. "Up early two days in a row? Starting to think you’re turning over a new leaf."

Gary fights to keep his face bland as he practically rockets out of his skin in surprise. "Yep! Yep, me and leaves, I'm all about turning them! Jumping up in there, flying all over the place, turning over, turning sideways. All kinds of turns. Flipping, flying f… fun…"

Avocato raises an eyebrow. "Would some coffee help, Captain?"

Gary nods, very clearly, just once, knowing he can't chance another string of babble. He sits down as Avocato gets up (two seats away from where he was -- not so far that it's weird, but not so close that it's… weird) and begins bouncing his leg vigorously. He can hear Avocato in the kitchen, just out of sight, the clink of a metal cup on a metal counter, and he tries to calm down. Deep breaths. Something like that.

Avocato comes back, sits one seat away from Gary (dammit!!), and hands him his mug. There's clearly cream in it and Gary looks up at Avocato, who smirks.

"You don't strike me as the type to take your coffee black."

Gary side-steps any subsequent feelings he might have, having been pinned as the kind of person who has coffee with additives, and takes a long sip, enjoying the heat more than the taste. His nervous leg-tapping slows.

"Ah, coffee," he says, "best export the earth ever had."

"That crop has destroyed planets."

Gary clenches his fist with intensity and looks in Avocato’s eyes. "It was for the greater good."

Avocato laughs, and Gary gets that shivering thrill he got in high school when Bailey Beth Sanderson (or Kelly Green, or Jessie B. Hardy, or whichever pretty girl) would giggle at his stupid antics, and he wants to first pump and die at the same time.

Instead of doing either, Gary takes another swallow of his coffee, taps rhythmically on the tin, before saying, "Yeah, ah, no. I'm not really trying to get up early. Just keeps happening. There's a lot on my mind, I guess."

"Like what?" Avocato asks around his mug.

Gary rolls his words around in his mouth for a moment before answering. "Quinn, my mom, keeping everyone safe, getting out of final space. Everything else." The 'everything else' keeps it safely in the not-a-lie category, which matters to him greatly at the moment.

Avocato nods. "Yeah," he says, "that is a lot."

They sit for a moment, digesting both coffee and reality, before Avocato speaks again. "We could go visit Quinn in the medical bay," he says, surprisingly soft, "if you think it would help."

Gary's whole stomach turns inside out, picturing Quinn breathing faintly under glass, still unconscious after everything that happened to her. "Maybe later," he says, looking at his mug.

 _KAAANG!_ Gary jumps at the reverberating tone of metal loudly hitting metal and looks at Avocato with his eyes wide. The Ventrexian’s mug is still vibrating on the table where he slammed it. “Well,” he says, “If you don’t want to talk it out, the next best thing is a distraction. Let’s make some breakfast. I can teach you Little Cato’s favorite.”

Gary still feels a little shell shocked. “I thought the next best thing was alcohol?”

“Not when you’re trying to be a good parental role model, it’s not.”

Without another word, Avocato heads back into the kitchen and, after a moment of hesitation, Gary finishes his coffee with a swift chug that only burns a little bit, and follows him. The older man is already at the fridge, his face lit by the unnatural glow of its internal light as he searches through it, pulling out the needed ingredients. Gary sees eggs and alien-squid jerky already on the counter.

“So,” Gary ventures, “what exactly is Little Cato’s favorite breakfast food?”

Avocato smiles in a way that makes his teeth look extra sharp and Gary swallows. “I’d love to fuck with you and tell you it’s something like boiled Chauliodus eyeballs,” Avocatos says, “but it’s just scrambled eggs and pan fried squid. Fresh squid would be better, but the dried stuff will work. Where are the onions in this place, anyway?”

“I got it,” Gary says, and fetches the onions from the bottom cabinet in the corner. While he does that, Avocato gets out a large frying pan, a cutting board, a medium-sized bowl, a knife, and various cooking utensils. Gary is surprised at how natural it feels, Avocato moving around in the kitchen like he’s done it countless times before. He’s never really pictured the more domestic side of Avocato’s life before they met. It couldn’t have all been evil acts, betrayal, and trying to get out and save his son. He wonders how many mornings were like this, how many included a spouse, or if it was only ever him and Little Cato, the boy sitting on the counter banging on a pot while his father cooked.

“How many onions do you want?” Gary asks.

“Two big ones should be good.”

With everything gathered, Avocato starts cracking eggs into the bowl. “The secret to scrambled eggs and squid,” he says, swiftly cracking eggs with one hand and dexterous fingers, “are perfectly caramelized onions, and that starts with an even dice. So get chopping.”

“Uh,” Gary responds. He looks down at the onions in his hands. Deeply uncertain, he goes to the counter and starts peeling off their papery skin. Once the glossy white layers are revealed, he picks up the knife, holds the onion against the cutting board, and promptly stands there like a statue. He purses his lips and tries to picture anything, even a movie, that might remind him how dicing an onion was supposed to work.

“What’s the hold up?” Avocato asks, already whisking the eggs into a sunny yellow froth.

“While I am a man of many and varied talents,” Gary says, awkwardly shifting around the onion, trying to find the best angle to stab it, “Home Ec. wasn’t required when I was in school, so I might have missed a few select life skills.”

“What the hell is a Home Ec.?”

“I don’t know how to dice an onion,” Gary rephrases.

Avocato rolls his eyes, though Gary could swear that he catches the slightest glint of amusement. He puts down the thoroughly stirred eggs and gently pushes Gary out of the way, taking the knife from his hand. “I’ll show you how to do it on the first one, then you can give it a try on the second one.”

Gary nods and takes a step back. Avocato cuts the onion in half smoothly, barely an acknowledgement of the spherical nature of the vegetable or the fact that the knife is kind of a dull piece of shit. Gary zones out as he watches Avocato’s hands work, his actions sure and practiced. He really was a man who put his all into everything, from chopping onions to pulling the trigger of a gun.

“You ready to give it a try?” Avocato asks.

“Huh?” Gary says. He flushes, realizing he missed the entire demonstration. A small, evenly sized pile of onion bits sits on the cutting board, mocking him.

This time Gary doesn’t see much amusement in Avocato’s rolling eyes. “Come over here,” he says, voice exasperated.

Gary steps back in front of the cutting board, takes the knife that Avocato hands him, and waits. Avocato goes behind him, situatues his head with his chin in the crook of Gary’s neck, and puts his hands on top of Gary’s to guide him. Gary’s entire body short-circuits.

Some kind of survival instinct kicks in. Gary’s body makes all the movements that Avocato’s guiding hands compel him to do, but his mind is elsewhere. A whooshing, roaring sound fills his ears, punctuated rhythmically by the steady beat of the knife against the cutting board. A myriad of cliché thoughts run through his head about how Avocato must be able to feel his heartbeat, how his face is about to burst into fire, interspersed with questions: _“Why isn’t Avocato saying anything? Isn’t this weird? When is he going to point out how stupidly flustered I am?”_

Somehow, through all the noise, he thinks, _“His hands are soft.”_

Gary starts to take note of all the places their bodies are touching, the warmth of being in someone’s arms, the new-but-pleasant sensation of a broad chest against his back. His dream felt like this -- exciting, yet safe. Without really meaning to, he settles into Avocato’s hold and his eyes go half-lidded, trying to file away every aspect of the moment. He slowly tunes into the beat of Avocato’s heart near his own, and is surprised to find it’s… kind of fast?

“There,” Avocato says as he finishes chopping the onion. He backs away and focuses his attention on the ship's equivalent to a stove, turning it on and placing the pan on a burner. Gary is left feeling oddly dazed. After a delay, he begins collecting the various discarded bits of the onion, tossing them into the small incinerator by the sink. He lets himself glance at the back of Avocato's head, just once, then grabs another small bowl from the cabinet, scooping the prepared onion into it. He squares his shoulders and hands it to Avocato.

"Thanks," Avocato says. His voice is warm around the word, or maybe that's just Gary.

"Now," he continues, "You want to start with the pan at medium heat." Gary shuffles forward an inch, to hear Avocato better and also just to be close, and they stay that way for a while.

oO0Oo

Gary knows he's dreaming this time.

He's back on the Galaxy One, which is a bit of a dead giveaway. The ship is like a giant, cavernous ghost, glowing and empty in dream space. For a moment Gary feels like his feet are sliding on ice and he thinks he might wake up, but then the moment settles and he's secure in unreality. He starts walking around and his mind provides a lonely echo for his footsteps.

He finds Avocato quickly, as he figured he would. The other man is standing in a cathedral-like common area that Gary thinks might be a bit embellished from reality, his back to Gary. Avocato's eyes are fixed forward, looking out into the stars and planets of Gary's choosing, framed by massive windows. Gary goes to stand beside him, holding his hands behind his back like he's afraid of what will happen if he doesn't. He keeps his eyes outward toward space.

"You're not real," Gary says after a moment.

"It would seem that way, wouldn't it?"

Gary turns to look at Avocato's face. The pale blue light that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere glints off of his eyes and nose, glows against his fur and the oddly relaxed line of his mouth. God, he looks real, even if he isn't. "It doesn't bother you that you're only a dream?"

Avocato smiles, "I'd have to be real before something like that bothered me; I don't meet minimum requirements."

The words are a little too clever for Avocato, too playful. It sounds more like Gary. "Why all… this? Why all the kissing and sexy stuff?"

"I'm part of your mind, Gary. I can't tell you anything you don't already know."

Gary puts a hand on Avocato's shoulder, turning the older man to look at him, and Avocato follows the physical instruction with no resistance. Gary takes a deep breath. 

Opens his mouth, closes it...

Then finally, he presses forward: "What is it that I'm not telling myself?"

Avocato's yellow eyes sparkle. " _Now_ you're asking the right questions. Think you might already know the answer, though." 

Gary lets his hand drop from Avocato's shoulder, tracing down his bicep and forearm, until he reaches the other man's hand and, before he can fall away entirely, Avocato catches Gary's fingers loosely in his own. The small motion makes Gary's heart feel unpleasantly squeezed.

"I think," He says, "that I've got a crush-type thing on Avocato."

Avocato nods,"It would seem that way."

Gary wants to close his eyes, pretend all this isn't happening, just for a second, but it doesn't seem like he can. Guess you aren't allowed to escape your thoughts in your own mind. 

"What do I do?" 

"You don't have to do anything."

"That feels like lying. And that's not really my style."

"Then tell him."

"What about Quinn?"

"This doesn't have to change anything with Quinn if you don't want it to."

"I don't see how that's possible."

Avocato drops his patience after that. "Well, _clearly_ some part of you has an idea of how to make it work, or I wouldn't have said that."

Gary yanks his hand away. "Hey, be nice to me! I'm dealing with a lot right now."

Avocato raises his hands in mock surrender. "Feel however you want to about it, Gary. But this doesn't have to be the end of the world. For one thing, that's already happened."

"Don't be cute," Gary says. He feels… he's not sure how he feels. His emotions are a strange miasma, impossible to parse or see through. It's better in some ways to the uncertainty of the last two days, but there's a hollow kind of fear nestled at the bottom of his ribcage now.

"I am what you think I am," Avocato replies.

Gary shakes his head and looks, really looks, at the literal man of his dreams. Avocato stands there and allows himself to be looked at, relaxed, unhurried. This isn't the real Avocato; nothing Gary does in this moment will go any farther than the confines of his own thoughts. It's a world of possibilities that Gary can't quite deny himself. He lifts his flesh hand to Avocato's face and cups his cheek, the soft fur sliding between his fingers. Avocato leans into the touch and Gary can feel the vibration of his purring under his palm.

"Would you really purr like a cat?" Gary says.

"Who's to say? You want him to, though."

Gary lifts his other hand, cradles Avocato's face and rubs his thumbs over the high part of his cheeks, just under his eyes. Avocato's eyes drop closed and the purring intensifies.

"I am a sick furry fuck," Gary mumbles.

Avocato laughs, "A little bit."

"I'm probably gonna kiss you now."

"Go for it."

Gary hesitates anyway. When he does lean forward to press his lips against Avocato's, he does so carefully. In all his dreams, he never really got to stop and experience just kissing the older man, the first time being too frantic, the second time too familiar and brief. The fur is less strange than it might be. Kissing Avocato is just alien enough that he has to rearrange their faces a few times to find the right angle, and the Ventrexian chuckles into his mouth like he knows what Gary's doing ( _He does_ ). Eventually, the weight of Avocato's hands comes to rest on Gary's hips and Gary can feel the slight prick of claws through his clothes.

He likes it. Gary runs his fingers down Avocato's cheeks, winds his arms around his neck, and he _likes_ it. He's kissed enough people in his life to know the difference between a good kiss and a person with whom any kiss would be good, and this is decidedly the latter. Avocato nips at Gary's lower lip and squeezes his hips and Gary makes a noise somewhere between happy and frustrated. _He likes it_.

Gary pulls back with as much grace as he can muster. He cradles the back of Avocato's head and rests their foreheads together.

"Just once, maybe," he says, "Just once, for real, I'd like to kiss Avocato like that."

Avocato's hands slide to the small of Gary's back. "What's happened to your bravado, Goodspeed? You could have so much more."

Gary wakes up.

He doesn't try to push away the dream this time. He holds it with careful fingers as he gets dressed, looking at it from every angle. From his perspective, there are a limited number of acceptable reactions to his new understanding of self. He picks the one with the strongest likelihood of destroying his life -- as he is wont to do -- and strides with a confidence that doesn't quite reach his bones to Avocato's bunk. He stares at the door to the bedroom and, after a beat, taps on it twice with his knuckles.

Avocato opens the door looking ruffled and newly awoken. 

"Wow," he says, blearily, "awake _before_ me now? Gotta say, that's more than I've dared to dream."

Gary doesn't answer, can't answer, can't even think too hard about the words 'dared' and 'dream'. He wiggles his way past Avocato and vaguely hears an affronted "Hey!" from the other man, which he ignores. 

Gary pivots, crosses his arms tight, looks Avocato directly in the eyes, and says, "I think I like you. In a romantic way."

A lot of minute expressions flash over Avocato's face before he trains it into careful blankness. Without taking his eyes off Gary, he closes the door, leaving them in darkness, save the red emergency lights on the floor. Gary can't bring himself to look for a switch or suggest Avocato flip it. His eyes will adjust eventually. He gets the feeling Avocato can see just fine.

"Okay," Avocato says evenly.

"Any other reactions?" Gary asks. His hands squeeze tighter around his biceps. His heart is going at a rate that is embarrassing and cliché.

"What about Quinn?"

"I like her, too," Gary says.

"Then I'm surprised that this conversation is happening."

Gary gestures jerkily with his arms. "Yeah, me too. But here we are! I seem to like you! Not a lot I can do about it!"

Gary can feel Avocato bristle, can almost see the fur around his collar standing up, despite the darkness. Yeah, Gary knows it’s not Avocato’s fault either and of course the Ventrexian resents the implication, however slight. He’s feeling selfish, though. Selfish enough to put his emotions front and center when there are better things to worry about. Selfish enough to press for an answer.

“Obviously,” Gary says, “we’re all gonna have to sit down and talk like adults once Quinn wakes up. It’s gonna be complicated, but I can’t lie about this. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a liar. I mean what I’m saying, Avocato: I like you.”

Gary wishes he could see better, just a little bit, so he has a better idea of what was going on in Avocato's mind. They're not that far away from each other, maybe only a stride or two, but he can still only really see Avocato's outline and the glint of red light off yellow eyes.

Gary hears Avocato though, clear as anything as he lets out a long breath. “I believe you,” he says.

“Please answer me, then,” Gary says, trying to look open, “I know I’m asking a lot, but what’s new? I’ve always asked for a lot. Tell me how you feel. Captain's orders.”

Gary's eyesight is getting better, and he sees Avocato squeeze his eyes shut and tilt his head away, like he really can’t chance looking at Gary at all in that moment. “God, you’re impossible,” he says, almost to himself, “You’re so impossible, all the time. I never know what to expect from you, Gary. I never know what’s gonna happen next. A man could use some consistency in his life, you know.”

Gary bites down hard on the dozen half-formed jokey responses he has to that and waits. It is an extreme effort, but he's done harder things in his life, so he says nothing and waits.

"What brought this revelation on?" Avocato finally says, still looking down and to the left, like there is something very interesting on the floor by Gary’s feet.

"You're dodging again."

"Yeah, I am. If you're gonna ask a lot, then so am I. Answer me," he shoots back, echoing Gary's own words.

Gary feels his face go hot. Well, if he's gotta be so fucking honest: "I've been dreaming about you."

The red lights provide the illusion of a blush on Avocato’s face, the one that Gary wants to imagine is under his fur, pairing nicely with his shocked expression. It’s such an odd look on Avocato, and the part of Gary that isn’t pumping with adrenaline files it away to revisit. Irrationally, for the first time in the conversation, Gary feels like he has a hold on things. 

“What kind of dreams?” Avocato ventures. Gary clenches and looks away, everything above his shoulders going unbearably warm. He wasn’t prepared for that question -- not that he was prepared for any of this at all. So much for having a handle on it.

“You know…” He says, hoping that Avocato will catch the implication in his tone. It really is too much to say out loud. He shoves his hands in his pockets and wishes he could toe at the ground without feeling like a little kid.

“O-oh.” Is the reply. (Stuttering! From Avocato! What a time to be alive.) It's the only reply Gary gets.

It's awkward. It's possibly the worst kind of awkward Gary's ever experienced and the prolonged silence that follows is heavy with the knowledge that it can't last _._ Neither of them are getting out of this. Gary forces himself to look back up. 

Avocato still isn’t looking at him. The older man seems so soft this early in the morning, despite everything. He really had just woken up, his fur flattened against his face, vulnerable without armor or a gun. Guilt begins to trickle into Gary's gut along with the embarrassment.

“This is probably a lot first thing in the morning,” Gary concedes. It's apparently just enough to get Avocato talking again

“Dreams like that don’t usually mean anything, Gary,” he says.

“I know.” Gary replies, “I know, but Avocato, these dreams were so…” His words catch. _What’s happened to your bravado, Goodspeed?_ “They felt so real, and I’d never felt excitement like that or safe like that -- and it’s not just the dreams! It’s the fact that you’re my best friend and we work surprisingly well together and we kind of have a son together, and, and _God_ you are weirdly hot, like, I knew you were hot intellectually, but these dreams made your hotness really tangible and --” _Stop, stop, stop!!!_ “And yeah… yeah."

Gary gathers himself and keeps going, hopefully in a more coherent direction: “I’m not doing this lightly. For me at least, I’d say I took my time. I want to do this, Avocato. I want to see where we could go. But only if you want that, too.”

Avocato finally looks at him after that. His careful neutral expression is long gone, replaced with something confused and lost. He looks strangely young wearing such uncertainty. Gary wonders if this has ever happened to the older man before, if he's ever been confessed to before life got messy and dangerous. Maybe when he was a teenager, cornered by some fool-hardy cat boy or a shy feline girl. Gary swallows. The room is so small, and Avocato looks even smaller in this moment. Just a step or two and he's right beside him. Hardly anything at all.

The words tumble out of Gary’s mouth before he can stop them, “God, I want to hold you."

It takes a moment for Gary to realize he's said something, but he slams his hands over his mouth the second it hits him. “Sorry!” He says behind his fingers. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that!”

Avocato stares at him and then, in a ludicrous, transcendental moment, starts to laugh. Gary can hardly believe it. 

“Out of all the things you’ve said…” Avocato manages through his strange half-chuckle, like even he’s surprised he’s laughing and isn’t quite sure how dedicated he should be to it. He rubs his hands over his face and exhales, seems to decide something, then closes the space between them in two quick steps. 

Gary finds himself in a hug, his arms pinned between their chests. Despite his shock, he manages to wriggle his arms out and around Avocato’s neck, clinging back with equal intensity

"Me too," Avocato says into Gary's shoulder, "I want that, too."

Gary's heart feels like a balloon, expanding and expanding until he's liable to float away. "So you like me, then? Romantic-styles?"

Avocato laughs, his huffy, exasperated laugh (And yes, you best believe Gary will label and categorize every laugh from here on out, until he knows every single giggle Avocato makes and everything he has to do to hear them again and again.) "Dammit, yes, against my better judgement."

“Good,” Gary breathes, “Awesome. That is so awesome. I’m very happy to hear that.”

Avocato pulls back, and this close, Gary can see every detail of his face, every strand of fur. He could kiss him. He could kiss him for real, right now. So he does.

And it’s everything he dreamed.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god, I've been working on this off and on for the last six months. Just take it. I can't look at this anymore. I'm a little iffy about my writing at certain parts for this, but the title was too good for me to give up on it, so now it's done.
> 
> Things to note: Yes, I was hinting at the possibility of a poly relationship between Quinn, Gary, and Avocato when Quinn wakes up and they have that talk, but you can ignore that if you want. But I'm a slut for an OT3, so... Also, some details might be off. Do forgive me if I remember something incorrectly from the show.


End file.
